Bridge of Sorrow 2: Memories Are Made Of This
by Tarma Hartley
Summary: Story 2 of a three story arc. It's now been two years since Miles' death and Phoenix has undertaken a yearly visit to the cemetery where Gregory Edgeworth is buried, to lay flowers on his grave as a token of respect and to talk to both father and son.


_A/N: Slight spoilers for Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney: Trials & Tribulations. Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Dahlia Hawthorne, Manfred von Karma, Doug Swallow and Gregory Edgeworth belong to CAPCOM. The plot belongs to me and I wrote the poem used at the beginning.  
_

_This is the second story in the "Bridge of Sorrow" arc which deals with Phoenix's life two years after Miles' death. He's still lost, angry and confused although he's doing a bit better than he was the first year._ _He's still hurting, wondering why Miles killed himself rather than to spend a lifetime with him; it should come as no surprise that he's tortured with "What if..." and "If only..." when the anniversary of Miles' death rolls around every November since, to him, it is the single most depressing day of the year. It's rough and he's having some trouble getting through it.  
Memories can be comforting but they can also be a double-edged sword and the wounds they inflict can be devastating, especially when one has lost a loved one. It hurts and it hurts deeply; one moment, you're fine and the next you're a miserable, weeping mess. I have tried to convey that kind of emotional imbalance and hope that the reason for his emotional distress are quite clear and not badly written. I like the little mystical twist at the end; definitely fitting, in my opinion. :)  
_

_**Thank you **to all my readers: those who have commented, read, reviewed, favourited/story alerted my stories and thanks also to those who have author alerted/favourite authored, as well! I appreciate it very much! I am glad that you are enjoying my stories and I hope that you will continue to enjoy them in the future! :)_

_Thank you to my beta, Midnight-hunter, for all your comments and insights! I really appreciate it! :)_

_Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his encouragement, love, concern and for reigniting the fire within me to write! Love you, honey, and thanks!_

_As always, reviews, comments and suggestions are welcomed and appreciated! I aim to improve my writing and comments do help me to do just that: by letting me know what you like, what you don't and what needs improvement. :)_

_Teen, Angst, Phoenix & Edgeworth  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _

_The rain falls onto the  
Cold, hard ground  
Memories buried deeply in the earth  
Of another time  
Another place._

_My broken heart  
Finds solace here  
In the quiet cemetery  
Dreams and lives lie buried here._

_Deep in the shrouded grave  
A beloved father rests  
His time on earth at an end  
Always remembered, never forgotten  
And forever cherished._

_My beloved is missing  
His body is lost and there is no rest  
For him._

_His spirit remains with me  
My heart bleeds in quiet acceptance.  
Two years have come and gone  
And I still remember him  
I miss his presence  
I miss his love._

_I'll always love you  
My beloved Miles  
I haven't forgotten and I won't forget  
The love that we shared for so brief  
But wonderful  
A time._

_Rest in peace  
Know that you will always be  
In my thoughts and in my heart  
Until we meet again._

_-Lament by Phoenix Wright (2nd anniversary of Miles Edgeworth's death)_

_-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_November 20th, 2021  
5 P.M.  
Meadow Gardens Cemetery, Los Angeles_

It was raining that cold November afternoon when I walked over to the cemetery where Gregory Edgeworth was buried, carrying a dozen brightly colored tulips, carefully wrapped in gold lamé paper, in my arms.

I didn't know Miles' father all that well but, from the little that I remembered from childhood, he had been a good man and a loving father. I'd often wondered about Miles' mother but, since he didn't seem all that eager to speak of her, I didn't press him although I had often wondered at his reticence and why he was so reluctant to talk about her. Eventually, he informed me that he had been deeply wounded by her which went a long way to explain why Miles didn't want to talk about her.

From the little gleanings I had caught here and there in our conversations over time, she had left when he was very young, around five or so. Both were prominent attorneys in their respective law offices and were busy most of the time with little energy left for family and domestic life. As a consequence, Gregory and his wife had drifted apart over the years and the split, when it came, was amicable. His parents' divorce inflicted serious emotional wounds on a young Miles that_ never _truly healed.

I was very surprised to learn that she was still alive and well and practicing in Carmel since I had thought, by the way Miles talked about her, that she had died many years earlier. After learning this, I wondered what other secrets he had kept from me and I couldn't help but to feel hurt that he didn't trust me enough to tell me that, although his mother was still alive, he didn't want to have any contact with her since his feelings were _still _ too raw and painful for him to face.

_Just one of the many things I'll have to get used to. Eventually._

I sighed, opening the tall, ornately scrolled metal gate that lead to the cemetery slowly, my hand trembling slightly as I did so, clutching the bouquet of tulips close to my chest so that I didn't drop them. I stopped and leaned against the gate, my trembling legs threatening to give out underneath me, waiting until the trembling stopped and I could stand up.

I couldn't understand why I was having such a rough time today. I came to the cemetery every year in November to pay my respects at Gregory Edgeworth's grave site and this was the first year that I had such a negative reaction of the kind I was presently experiencing.

This annual pilgrimage had begun a year after Miles' death. Anguished and sick at heart, I had managed somehow to stumble into the cemetery-to this day, I still have no idea how I managed to get there-the night after the note was found, wrapping my arms around the headstone. A storm broke out overhead that night, soaking me to the skin but I barely noticed as I, literally, clung to my rock. As I let the dam break inside of me, clutching at the headstone for comfort, I felt peace wash over me for the very first time that terrible day. Ever since then, I found that it gave me some measure of comfort-not matter how small-in coming here to visit Mr. Edgeworth's grave with flowers as a token of respect.

They'd never found Miles' body-as far as I knew-so it was with a two-fold purpose that I came came here to visit his father every year: to pay my respects to Miles' father and to talk to Miles as well at the same time.

In the depths of my heart, I couldn't help wishing that the authorities had found his body so that at least I could have made sure he'd had a decent burial next to his father, feeling a twinge of guilt at the thought. I sighed deeply as I walked down the rows of grave sites, each step becoming more difficult than the last until it felt like I had cement blocks for feet.

It would have meant the world to him, I knew, to be buried next to the father he adored and had so cruelly been taken from him at such an early age. How many of the tragedies yet to come could have been avoided had Miles' father not been taken from him while he was still an impressionable youngster? Von Karma would never have got his talons into him in the first place and the man that Miles would eventually become after he was free of his baleful influence, would have emerged much sooner. My brow furrowed slightly at the thought and, after a moment, I shook my head violently.

I didn't want to spoil this precious time with memories of Manfred von Karma and the role he played in tearing apart Miles' life when he was a boy not to mention how he'd tried to ruin his life only a few years ago. Biting my lip, I couldn't even begin to fathom the hatred that had driven von Karma and I wondered exactly _why_ he'd tried to destroy Miles' life by trying to pin the blame on Miles for a murder that he _hadn't_ even committed.

Miles _hadn't_ killed his beloved father, but von Karma _had, _and he very nearly succeeded in his endeavor to destroy Miles once and for all... and the man that von Karma could not abide.

For fifteen years, Miles believed that _he_ was the one who had been responsible for his father's death when he hadn't been at all. I couldn't believe the cold-bloodedness of the man, wondering what kind of person would let his protege believe that he had killed the father he adored. I'd worked extra hard on this case because I firmly believed in Miles' innocence and I was damned if I'd let that bastard hang my lover for something he didn't do.

_Well... he wasn't _quite _my lover yet at that point_, I reminded myself with a rueful chuckle, my fingers tightening on the lame which crackled loudly in the silence. _Four months later, we did become lovers but I suppose the time of it really doesn't matter since I was deeply in love with him and had been for quite awhile by that time._

I'd managed to pull it off though, just _barely_ and thought that now, that everything was all over and his name cleared, that we'd be able to live our lives together. That didn't happen. A little while after that, the SL-9 case broke out in full force and both Miles and I were dragged right in the maelstrom along with it.

I really didn't like to remember this time in my life since it was one of the most painful I had ever gone through, the sole exception being when I was in college when I learned that the woman I loved, Dahlia Hawthorne, was a conniving murderess; I had been on her "to kill" list but she had ended up killing someone else instead by sheer accident. Doug Swallow, who had tried to warn me, had taken the poisoned cold medication before I did and thus he had, in a twisted sort of way, saved my life.

I couldn't believe–I didn't _want_ to _believe-_that she was capable of such a horrible thing with such deep, premeditated evil but I was forced to face the _real_ Dahlia and not the sugary-sweet image she had used as a front or the one I had built up in my head.

I had to admit, as I walked between the rows of potted plants, I was always grateful, although I don't deny that I didn't feel this way at the time or for quite some time _after_ the event, to Mia Fey for opening my eyes to the_ true_ Dahlia and not the image she had portrayed herself to be, hiding the_ real_ monster underneath.

That blow had been a _very _painful one and it had taken me quite some time to come to terms with. Now that I thought about it, it made my teeth ache and I hurried away from those memories as quickly as I could; I didn't want to spare a thought for Dahlia since she was in the category _Best Left In The Past_. And that was where I was content to leave her. Miles, however, was a different story altogether.

I shook my head as I neared Gregory Edgeworth's grave, blinking quickly as I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

_After all this time you'd think that I wouldn't have any more tears left to shed,_ I thought morosely, a well of bitterness rising in my throat and swallowing hard as I stood in front of Gregory's grave. _And, yet, my eyes are tearing. Where is it all coming from? _I wiped the tears away with an impatient gesture, trying to ignore the trembling in my cold, cramped fingers.

_It's really cold out today... much more than I suspected. Maybe I shouldn't have come after all. _I shivered, pulling the corners of my collar together in an attempt to keep the bitter chill from permeating my clothing and wrapping the loose ends of my black scarf tightly around my neck. _You can be_ such _a damned fool sometimes, Wright. You know that, don't you?_

Standing in front of the large granite headstone, I looked at it and read: "_Gregory Edgeworth: Beloved Father. 1966-2001. Far Apart In Memory But Not Forgotten._" Taking five tulips out the bouquet, I bent over and gently laid them on top his grave, my breath catching in my throat as I did so.

_What a damned waste_, I thought sadly as I stood up, folding my hands over one another, tucking the bouquet underneath my arm, feeling the raindrops gently striking my face as I looked up at the grey sky. _And for what?_ _All the pain, the agony, __the death of a beloved father and the hurt wasn't worth von Karma's injured pride._

My lip curled with disgust as I also threw _that_ memory away along with the ones I wanted to forget. Today was Miles' and Mr. Edgeworth's day and not one to be spoiled by the memory of a murderous man who killed his rival in a fit of pique because of a stupid stain on his equally stupid perfect record. I couldn't forgive him for that, not after the hell he'd out Miles through for so many years. My lip curled into a feral snarl; I knew it wasn't charitable but I hoped that he burned.

_Enough! _I gave my head a disgusted shake. _I don't want to think about that man! He'd been the cause of so much pain for Miles; thankfully, he's dead and gone so he'll never be able to hurt him again but that really doesn't mean much of anything since Miles is also gone..._

I didn't know why today, of all days, that my mind should be wandering back to the people who had either tried to harm one or both of us at one point or another when I should have been thinking about Miles and his father. It bothered me a great deal as well, that these evil people should be reborn in my memory.

I supposed that the reason, at least today, of _why_ these people re-invaded my thoughts was because of my location. A cemetery was a place of quiet and reflection and it is also a place where the dead sleep though, it seems, that not all of those interred here sleep in peace.

Memories, broken hearts and dreams lie buried here and I often wondered what stories also lay entombed with them. Did they rest in peace or did they wander in some kind of hellish limbo, unable to rest and unable to move on?

I shivered at that last thought, my eyes glancing hurriedly around me. I could have sworn that I felt eyes watching me but I didn't see anything when I whirled around to look. I didn't know where these thoughts were coming from but they were disturbing and I hurriedly moved on to more pleasant memories.

I looked at the headstone again and, after taking a deep breath, I started to speak.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Two years earlier..._

_September 5, 2019  
Miles Edgeworth's Residence  
7 P.M._

"Dinner's ready, Phoenix!"

_I smiled as I heard Miles' voice call out from the dining room where I heard him bustling around setting the table, the soft tones and clinking of glasses and silverware wafting into the living room where I was busy wrapping up a file for a case that I was working on._

"Coming!" _I replied, my voice slightly muffled with the nails I was holding tightly though carefully in my teeth, keeping a simultaneous eye on the file I had spread out in front of me on the coffee table. _"Just give me a minute!"

_I heard an exasperated sigh. _"If you don't come_ soon_, it will get cold!"

"All right, all right!"_ I hollered back, scanning the last line of the file and hammering in the nails in the sides of the bird house's roof. _"I'll be there in a second!"

_I had a pleased look on my face as I set it gently down on the table. Now the birds who regularly came to our yard would have a place to stay and I certainly hoped they would; there was no greater pleasure for me than to hear bird song in the early morning._

"**Phoenix**!"

"Coming!"

_With a smug grin, I got up from the floor, brushing off the sawdust from the back of my jeans. All that I had to do was to paint it and it would be finished; I cast a wry grin at the sawdust before turning and walking toward the kitchen, hoping that Miles wouldn't notice before I had a chance to clean it up. He definitely wouldn't approve of me building a birdhouse in the middle of the living room._

_All in all, it had been a remarkably good day and I positively beamed when I sat down at the dinner table, after a quick trip to the bathroom to wash up, and enjoyed the supper that Miles had prepared with relish, much to his amusement.  
_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
_

"It was a beautiful birdhouse and I was so happy that I was able to make it myself from scratch," I remarked happily, feeling a swell of pride rise in my chest at the memory. "I felt a real sense of accomplishment that day; not only could I make something beautiful but that it was made well, from scratch, and infinitely practical."

I looked down at the ground for a few moments in silence. It was amazing the things that one remembers. "There were birds that came to live in the birdhouse and I really enjoyed listening to them sing in the early morning." I chuckled softly. "Miles didn't like it too much but he never made an issue of it because he knew I enjoyed it." I smiled wryly. "Incidentally, I also caught it for building a birdhouse in the living room and leaving some sawdust behind. Even though the pieces were precut, I still needed to sand them a bit and I didn't have a chance to clean up before Miles noticed."

A few moments later, I looked at the headstone, looking at the faded photograph of Gregory Edgeworth, still smiling sweetly after all these years, that was built into the stone itself to the right of his name. "He was a _good_ man, Mr. Edgeworth, one you would have been proud to call your son." I looked away for a moment, fighting tears. "You would have been proud of the man he became. I only wish... it... could have been... _longer_..."

I looked up at the sky, closing my eyes and letting the peaceful silence of the cemetery wash over me. No matter how bad I may have been feeling on a particular day, after I came here I always felt better with a little more peace of mind. Unfortunately, it never seemed to last much longer beyond a few days before the grief and the guilt came back.

_I suppose that's the way it goes: one day of peace for a month of grief. I wish it could be easier._

The rain had picked up but I didn't notice as I once again lost myself in memories...

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_October 31st, 2019  
Phoenix Wright Residence  
8 P.M.  
_

_"__Phoenix?" I heard Miles' voice call out from the kitchen and I sighed, pausing a moment to put the Halloween colored streamers on the floor, leaving one half tacked to the ceiling with the rest lying in a heap of orange and black crepe on the floor._

If it's not one thing, it's the next_, I thought uncharitably, muttering something underneath my breath as I slowly got to my feet, stretching my cramped muscles gingerly and walked through the living room. _What does His Royal Highness want this time?

_I stalked to the kitchen to see a bemused smile on Miles' face and, before I could open my mouth to say a word, I happened to look down at the small crystal serving plate that he held in his hands. On top of it, a wonderfully spicy smell wafted up from the pumpkin spice muffin that lay on it, one of my favorite fall treats._

_Stunned, I looked at him, my eyes swimming, my hand trembling slightly as I reached out to take the pastry and took a large bite, closing my eyes and enjoying the spicy flavors that burst on my tongue in a delicious wave. I groaned in pleasure as I ate, Miles' sweet smile spreading across his face until he beamed with happiness._

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
_

"It was one of my favorite memories, that Halloween night," I said aloud, looking at Gregory Edgeworth's headstone, a sad smile on my face. "I'm _very _glad that I didn't say what was on my mind or I would have ruined a very special moment that I had _no _idea was even coming."

I wiped my eyes with my cold fingers, clutching the bouquet of tulips close to my chest with my left hand, tucking my fingers underneath the lamé. "He'd made the muffin himself and decided to surprise me. It was_ very_ good; moist, tender and spicy, just the way I liked it." My mouth watered at the memory. "He was an excellent cook; while I admit that I can make some things, he could make _anything_, even the simplest dish, into something extra-special. I enjoyed that muffin immensely, every bite of it, and have never enjoyed one since as I did that one." I felt my voice crack with emotion, biting down hard on my trembling lip. "I can't tell you _how_ glad I am that I didn't let my pique spoil that wonderful surprise. I'm also _very _glad that I didn't let him see how angry and annoyed I was, that I didn't say what was on my mind..."

I couldn't finish the sentence but I had the feeling that Mr. Edgeworth understood. I hoped he did, at any rate. There were some unhappy memories lurking on the edge of my consciousness and I pushed them away impatiently: memories of the final months of Miles' life, dancing on the razor's edge between hope and despair before the inevitable parting; Miles, walking the halls at home like a ghost, his face white, strained and unhappy; my own pitiful efforts to try and break down the fortress he'd hidden behind and being thwarted time after time, again and again; the angry words and sleepless nights..._ all _of this I wanted to forget. But I couldn't forget nor could I shake the guilt that had surrounded me like a suffocating shroud, tormenting me with "what if's" and "if only's" until I couldn't bear it anymore.

In desperation, I reached out and touched the headstone, my hand shaking as I did so; as it had the first night when I sought comfort here, I felt peace wash over me, calming my soul's tortured cries. My fingers tightened on the rough granite surface, struggling to regain control over my emotions. It had been two years but the pain was still raw, my soul still shattered.

After some time, I took a step backward, my fingers gently scraping over the rough granite surface, a wistful look on my face. I lowered my head and murmured a quiet prayer for Mr. Edgeworth and Miles.

I looked once more at the faded photograph of Gregory Edgeworth before I turned and began to walk toward the bridge, leaving the headstone to continue its lonely vigil in the dark, the flowers seeming to glow in the moonlight.

From out of the darkness, a thin wisp of white mist seemed to hover over the flowers for a moment and then disappeared without a trace, fading into the night as if it had never been there...


End file.
